


all this and heaven too

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: Dimitri struggles to adjust to life in Almyra. Claude tries to make it easier—but not without a bit of teasing.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 182





	all this and heaven too

**Author's Note:**

> i was doing so well with keeping my kiss meme prompts short—and then this happened. enjoy this absolute mess of sappy, fluffy dimiclaude.

Dimitri understands that Almyran customs are different than those in Fodlan.

He understands this, and he accepts it. He knows that it’s customary at large celebrations for food to be served in large, shared bowls, and that he and everyone else are expected to eat as they please with their hands.  _ That _ had been an adjustment, but he’d done it. And he’d adjusted just as well to the deep, resounding drums of the music at these celebrations—it had shaken him down to his core, he could feel it in his  _ bones _ , but Claude had dragged him to dance, and he’d gone happily—and lost himself in it, just as well. When Claude had kissed him,  _ filthy _ , in the midst of the dance, Dimitri pulled away in shock, only to see the rest of the crowd lost in its own pleasure, a haze of sweat and bodies and the heat that rose between them. So Claude had tugged him back down and Dimitri had gone willingly, and had come to expect the giving and taking of pleasure, the  _ sharing  _ of it, at celebrations.

He’s adjusted to all of this, and more. He listens when Claude speaks, is appropriately demure and dutiful when speaking to the King of Almyra in front of an audience. He allows himself to be dressed in thin silks and ornamental jewelry, to have bells braided into his hair and for his lobes to be pierced. He visits as a fellow king, but Almyra’s relationship with Fodlan is still strained, and he understands that he must do all he can to make himself appear accepting, open, and benevolent.

“You’ve already proven yourself a formidable warrior,” Claude had said. “It’s time to prove you won’t use that skill against  _ us _ .”

So Dimitri adjusts. He adapts, and accepts, and lets himself be manhandled into clothes that, at the very least, wick the heat. At the end of the day, it’s all quite easy, with Claude whispering in his ear and murmuring how  _ good _ he is, how lovely and handsome he is, how much Claude enjoys watching Dimitri traipse about looking fully like  _ Claude’s _ , and really, isn’t that all the encouragement Dimitri needs?

Except, there’s another custom. One that Claude, perhaps conveniently, forgot to warn him about. In Almyra, it is customary for friends to kiss each other in greeting. It’s never on the lips, but rather on both cheeks. Dimitri had noticed this upon his first few visits to Almyra, but he’d never seen Claude do it, and so it had hardly registered. Surely, he’d thought, such a custom couldn’t apply to the  _ King _ .

It does.

Claude greets every ambassador with a kiss lighted upon each cheek, and sends them off in good favor with a kiss upon their brow. It’s always quick, always chaste, but Claude’s hands are always on their shoulders, a smile always on his face, and that— _ that’s _ what gets Dimitri.

He scowls all the way back to their room, heart thudding dangerously in his chest and the skin of his arms prickling. He knows that logically,  _ rationally _ , he can’t ask Claude to stop. He knows that. He must accept that, from one king to another. He would never dream of getting in the way of Claude’s work.

He knows that, but it haunts him all the same. It’s the smallest thing, the simplest of the lot of them, but it eats at him. Each time Claude presses a kiss to  _ his  _ brow, each time Claude brushes his cheek with cool fingers and dry lips, Dimitri thinks about it. He thinks of Claude’s lips, lips that Dimitri has claimed time and time again, welcoming someone else’s.

Claude brings it up first.

“Something’s bothering you,” he says, and it’s not a question. There’s an upward curve to his lips, a kind of resting grin, but his eyes are serious when they meet Dimitri’s.

Dimitri shrugs, not trusting himself to speak.

“You’ve been pouting all week,” Claude accuses. He takes a bite of bread, ripping at it with his teeth. “The whole time you’ve been here, actually. So come on. Out with it.”

Dimitri scowls. “It’s nothing,” he tries, but gives up quickly. He sighs and leans back in his chair. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m simply—having a hard time adjusting.” It’s not a lie, exactly. Something he’s picked up from Claude.

But of course, half-truths are Claude’s specialty, and he sees right through Dimitri. “Would you like to be more specific?”

“No,” Dimitri says, and he can feel himself pouting. “It’s silly.”

Claude shrugs. “I don’t care.” He dips his bread in his wine and takes another bite. Dimitri fixates on his mouth.

“It’s—odd,” he finally says. “Watching you kiss other people.”

Claude cocks a brow. “I haven’t kissed other people,” he says.

Dimitri winces. “You have,” he says, tentative. “By—Fodlan standards.”

“Fodlan standards?” Claude echoes, and Dimitri can see his brain working. “What do you—” And then it clicks. “Oh,” he says. A pause as he sets down his bread. “Oh.”

“It’s not—a big deal,” Dimitri says quickly, stiltedly. “I know it’s important. It’s—your job. I would never presume to change that.”

“Dimitri,” Claude says, and his voice is heartbreakingly gentle. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “It’s not important. You can’t change it.”

“Just because I can’t change it doesn’t make it less important.” Claude shakes his head. “My intention is never to make you feel bad, or unimportant. You know that.” A pause. “Right?”

“I know that,” Dimitri says.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No.” It’s too quick, but it’s the truth. Dimitri needs Claude to understand that. “I could never—no. Of course not.”

Claude grins. “What is it, then?” There’s a wicked glint to his eye, and it sends heat curling in Dimitri’s belly. “Are you  _ jealous _ ?” The way he says it should be teasing, should be—belittling, almost, but goddess, he’s  _ right _ .

“No,” Dimitri says, but again, it’s too quick.

Claude hums and sips his wine. “Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” he murmurs, pronouncing each syllable with the slow, sweet lilt of his accent. “King of Fodlan. My only equal.” He’s mischievous, now. “To think that a king would be jealous of a man.”

Dimitri splutters. “I am  _ not _ —”

“Oh, Dimitri,” Claude purrs. “My sweet, noble Dimitri.” He leans forward across the table. “What is it that bothers you, hm? It’s not  _ just _ the kissing, is it?”

Dimitri colors.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Claude continues. “What is it, then? Is it the way they lean in for it? The way they close their eyes?” Neither of these get the reaction he’s looking for, so: “Is it me, then?”

Dimitri scoffs, and that’s all Claude needs. His smile turns sinful. “Is it—what? The way I kiss them? But no, that’s not it. What is it, Dimitri? The way I touch them? How I pull them close to me?”

Dimitri swallows, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “You don’t need to tease,” he says.

Claude’s smile falters, but not much. “Dimitri,” he says, warm and soft and just a little slyly. “I understand why you would feel that way. It must be a difficult thing to adjust to.” He’s standing, now, rounding the table to meet Dimitri where he sits on the other side. “When I moved to Fodlan, I had to adjust, too—no one  _ touches _ there. I was spurned for greeting people, thanking them—in the only way I knew how.” Claude takes Dimitri’s hands; Dimitri’s heart flutters nervously. “You’ve done so well for me. Done so much. I love you more than words could ever express.” He presses a kiss to each knuckle, unfolding Dimitri’s hands to place a kiss on each palm.

“I’m...trying,” Dimitri says. It’s true.

Claude holds both of Dimitri’s hands to his lips, weaving his fingers between Dimitri’s own. “Thank you,” he whispers, reverent. He leans his forehead against Dimitri’s clasped hands. “You’ve been so patient with me. Perhaps more patient than you ought to be.” He flashes a quick smile. “I’ve said many times how important this is to me—the breaking of Fodlan’s Locket, the peace negotiations between our countries. You took me at my word, and you’ve supported me more than I ever thought anyone would. More than anyone  _ could _ .”

“Hush,” Dimitri says, and tugs Claude into his lap. Claude huffs but allows himself to be pulled, laughing weakly as he straddles Dimitri’s thighs. “Don’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”

Claude gasps. “I would never!” he says, half-teasing through the worry in his voice.

Dimitri shakes his head. “I’m serious, Claude.”

“I know you are,” Claude says. “That’s the problem. You’re so serious. You take me so— _ seriously _ .”

Dimitri cups the back of Claude’s head, threading his fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He brings Claude close enough to bump their foreheads. “I support you,” he whispers. “All of you. Every part. Your dreams, your ambitions, you loyalties. I support you because I love you.” He closes his eyes, because he can hardly bear to be this earnest in front of Claude’s wide, glassy eyes. “I will  _ always _ love you.” And then, because he can’t help it: “Even if you have to kiss other people.”

Claude snorts, laughing and shaking and now cupping the sides of Dimitri’s face. His thumbs trace the peaks of Dimitri’s cheekbones, sharp edges worn smooth by months of Almyran eating and Claude’s watchful eye. He presses a kiss to Dimitri’s brow, lingering a moment and breathing deep. “Thank you,” he says again. “For—this. For giving me this. For trusting me, and for loving me.”

Dimitri smiles, a bit shaky, and nudges Claude’s nose with his own. “Of course.”

Claude kisses the tip of his nose, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth. “I love you, Dimitri,” he breathes, a confession and a promise.

“I know,” Dimitri says, and meets Claude’s lips with his own.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @ nishtabel :)


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